


Above and Beyond

by Raven_Ember



Category: FAKE (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Death, Drama, M/M, character whump, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Ember/pseuds/Raven_Ember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lives are often shattered in the line of duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own FAKE or the characters. They belong to Sanamo Matoh. I do not profit financially from writing this story.

Dee grunted as he took cover behind a dumpster. Shots bounced off of the metal and flew past him as the thieves tried to make their escape. Unfortunately for them, they'd chosen an alley with a large, brick fence blocking their path and with nothing for them to use for purchase. They were cornered, and they were desperate to get away. Unfortunately for Dee, some of the shots had hit their mark. Blood poured from two different wounds, one on his arm and one on his leg. While he'd called for back-up the moment the chase started, any responders were still some distance away, unable to get to him and to apprehend the criminals he pursued. It seemed as if they knew it, and they were doing everything they could to keep him pinned behind his current hiding spot.

'They'll have to run out of bullets soon,' Dee thought, gritting his teeth. 'They'll need to reload eventually.'

He peered around the dumpster with as much caution as he could – the last thing he wanted was for a bullet or shrapnel to hit him in the eye – to see what the perps were doing. The moment they saw him, they raised their weapons and started firing once again, and Dee jerked back as the bullets sped past him. They sent small sparks and pieces of metal flying, and then he heard the two cursing. With the exception of the sirens drawing ever closer, silence blanketed the alley, and Dee decided to take a chance.

"I'd give up already if I were you," he said, his voice loud.

"And why's that, you filthy pig of a cop?"

"Because you're running low on ammo, I have back-up coming, and there's only one way out of this alley," Dee replied. A quick check of his gun told him he needed to reload, and he did.

"Ah, but there's only one of you and two of us," the same perp replied. Dee thought he heard the bastard smiling at the knowledge. "And I believe we've landed a couple of hits on you, too."

"Doesn't mean I'll make it easy for you," he shot back. He inched closer to the side of the dumpster.

"We ain't going down without a fight!"

"Somehow, I knew you'd say that. Morons," Dee muttered. Exhaustion was settling over him, and his thoughts were becoming muddled and fuzzy. He found himself wishing the back-up would arrive already so it could end, and the idiots at the end of the alley could be arrested and taken to jail. It wasn't often they were able to catch criminals in the act of an offense. When they were able to apprehend them with a crime in progress, it made the prosecutors' jobs that much easier. And Dee _wanted_ for something to be easy . . . at least in terms of a conviction. In his mind, it would make up for the crappiness of the last twenty-four hours.

With his Glock reloaded, Dee stepped out from behind the dumpsters. His intentions were to wound the two thieves and make it as difficult as possible for them to escape. He didn't know if they wore body armor. He didn't even know the precise weapons they were carrying. Dee just knew he had to do _something_ , to keep them there as long as he possibly could for his fellow officers to arrive and arrest them. He'd have very little time to duck behind the dumpsters once they started shooting at him again, wounding him even more. All of this, he knew and expected.

He just didn't expect to feel pain erupting in his back as three bullets tore through his back, causing him to stagger forward and drop to his knees. The loss of blood from his previous wounds finally caught up with him. Dee's world spun at an alarming rate before darkness claimed him, but his only thoughts were on Ryo.

_'He won't miss me . . .'_

_Twenty-four hours earlier . . ._

"Honey, I'm home!"

Ryo shook his head as he heard his partner enter his apartment. He half-imagined the goofy grin on Dee's face at saying those words upon stepping through the door. Some things vastly amused Dee for no reason that Ryo could see or think of, at least nothing obvious. Dee was . . . well, he was Dee. Most often, there was no instant explanation for the things he said or did or the things and expressions that had his partner laughing like a giddy schoolboy, and it seemed like every day was a good day for his partner.

Generally, Ryo didn't mind his partner's cheerfulness or the quirky things he did or said. Dee's upbeat attitude pulled him through many dark hours and moments in his life, and it was something Ryo could appreciate. Some days, though, the cheerfulness, the quirkiness, wore away at Ryo. There were times when he felt the need to be serious, to be an adult and not pretend like they were some perfect, fictional family. When those times struck him, he felt as if Dee remained completely clueless as to what he needed and wanted, and he wanted to strangle the younger man. It lowered his spirits, his confidence in himself, and left him wanting, aching, _yearning_ for someone a little more mature, someone who would be the somber companion when he needed it. Ryo fought back a sigh and resumed his current task, that of wiping off the rest of the dishes and putting them away. He didn't even look at Dee as the other man entered the kitchen.

"Hey," Dee murmured. He slid his arms around Ryo's waist and hugged. It was a gentle gesture, and he braced himself for the sexual advances that were bound to come his way.

"Hey," Ryo said, nodding.

"Missed you," his partner said, his breath hot against Ryo's cheek, neck, and ear.

"You always say that."

"Because it's true," Dee replied. "I know we can't always be together . . . there are things that we're gonna have to do without each other . . . but it doesn't mean that I like it . . . I just . . . I really did miss you today."

"I didn't miss you, though," Ryo said. He refused to turn to face Dee. His muscles ached, his arms were like lead, and a heavy, leaden sensation threatened to crush his soul.

"You don't mean that . . ." Hurt, uncertainty, disbelief . . . all were in Dee's voice. "Do you?"

"Dee, it's kind of hard for me to miss you when you're always hanging on to me every chance you get, always pretending like there's nothing wrong!" Ryo snapped. Dee's grip on him went slack, and Ryo closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the hurt in his partner's eyes, didn't want to feel guilty for the words he'd just spoken, even though he knew he had every right to speak what was on his mind and how he was feeling. He hadn't missed Dee at all that day. In fact, he'd enjoyed the quiet hours to himself, doing what he wanted without interruption. It'd been _nice_. No Dee to latch onto him at every available opportunity. No Dee to fill the apartment with his (currently) annoying cheerfulness. No Dee to demand attention or to shower it upon. It was a chance to _breathe_ , both in a literal and metaphoric sense. "I've had enough of it!"

He didn't know the thoughts running through Dee's mind. He didn't turn around to look at his partner. If he had, the guilt for his words would have outweighed the stress and the anger that bubbled underneath the surface. He expected his partner to raise his voice, to start arguing with him, to say that he was being an inconsiderate jerk or some other such thing. He itched for that fight. Ryo wanted the opportunity to say everything he'd been feeling, to let the anger loosen his tongue like a good, strong whiskey.

Instead of raising his voice, instead of trying to argue back, Dee took a step away from him. Ryo knew this when he felt the pressure of his partner's arms around his waist disappear. No questions, no accusations, nothing came Ryo's way, and he finally turned in time to see Dee exit the kitchen. The other man paused once.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow," was all Dee said before he continued on, leaving the apartment in more silence than when he'd arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some calls a police officer never wants to hear over his or her radio . . . a 4-19 and a 4-20 are among them. I'm hoping I have those numbers right. It's been a while since I've caught any crime drama shows where a police officer is shot in the line of duty.

His hands shook, and his heart hammered with the strength of a sledgehammer as Ryo leapt out of the car and tried to run towards the hospital's main entrance. The seatbelt caught him and snagged him into place for the briefest of moments, and he cursed his rotten luck. Fumbling for the buckle, he was in no mind to be delayed any longer.

'I should have been there with him. I should have been there . . . I shouldn't have asked to stay behind. What the hell was I even thinking? Why did I say that I didn't miss him?'

From the moment the call had come in – a 4-19 followed by the name of the officer – Ryo felt his world spinning out of control.

No . . . not out of control. It had spun, that was for sure, but then it toppled, crashing into jagged rocks with razor sharp edges. His breath leeched out of him by the lungful, and the light ran away from his eyes.

At first, he didn't want to believe what the dispatcher said. It had to be a joke, right? Dee's way of getting back at him for not wanting him around, and it was a bad one. Dee knew about his parents, knew how they'd died and why. It was a sick, sick joke, and Ryo intended, in those scant seconds of denial, to give his partner an earful when he returned to the station.

J.J.'s reaction, however, broke that spell. His wail filled the entire office area, and Ryo moved. He knew better than to think that. It was he who'd forgotten. Dee knew what it was like to lose someone to a violent death. Jess Laytner had died in front of Dee. He remembered his partner telling him as much. Dee would never pull that kind of a prank on anyone, recalling precisely the pain of losing the only person he dared to call "Dad" and nearly losing the one he called "Mother" in a bombing.

Now Ryo fought with the seatbelt that restrained him, that kept him from his partner. A small part of him knew he should take a deep breath, calm down and try to think in a rational fashion. The seatbelt wouldn't be a problem, but all rational thought and behavior had fled Ryo when he'd heard the call about his partner.

'I don't have time for this!' he screamed at himself. 'Please, please! Let me get to Dee. Please, let me get to Dee. I swear I'll never take his cheerfulness for granted ever again. Please, just let me go!'

Finally, after struggling for a moment more, his hands found the release button, and Ryo bolted from the car the second the restraint eased. His thoughts were solely on Dee and his condition. How bad were his partner's wounds? Dee had received gunshot wounds before, and they'd never slowed him down. Ryo knew, though, that it was different this time than from some of the last times someone had shot at his partner. Those tendrils of fear crept in and stabbed at his heart and his mind, and his imagination ran rampant, wild, and raging. All he could see in his mind were images of Dee on a gurney, soaked in blood and dead. In one instance, half of his partner's skull was missing as was half of his face. The thought left Ryo on the verge of vomiting. He coughed and hacked and tried to catch his breath.

'Please don't let me be too late. Please, don't let him be dead. Please, please, please . . . I can't lose him. He may annoy me, but he's one of the best people I've ever met. I can't lose him. I can't lose him like I did them. I can't, I can't, I can't . . .'

Ryo wasn't a religious person. The death of his parents snapped, frayed and shattered his belief in any potential deity. He respected other people's choices, though not everyone always respected his religious, or lack thereof, beliefs. Yet, as he ran through the doors to the hospital and asked where he could find Dee Laytner, Ryo found himself praying for his partner's well-being . . . and for his life.

* * *

_Six hours later . . ._

"Laytner?"

At the sound of the woman's voice, everyone gathered in the waiting room looked up, John Smith among those awaiting word on Dee's condition. He personally had gone to pick up the youngster in Ryo's care, Bikky Goldman, and he'd told the teen what had happened. The youth sat next to his foster parent, holding on as if his life depended upon it.

'Maybe, in a way, it does,' John mused. Bikky Goldman was no stranger to tragedy. His father had died only a few years prior, and, though his relationship with Dee was questionable at times, there were no doubts that there was some kind of bond between the teen and the detective. To lose Dee would be to lose another father figure, a more positive father figure who knew precisely how Bikky felt and the kind of life the teen used to live. That, in and of itself, was a tragedy. His eyes then traveled towards Ryo, who also hung onto Bikky as if _his_ life depended on it.

'Another one who isn't a stranger to tragedy . . .' he thought, taking in Ryo's reddened eyes and cheeks. The tears hadn't stopped from the moment the call had come in about the shooting. Something had happened between Dee and Ryo. That much was obvious to John, but he couldn't say precisely _what_. The two never spoke of their personal problems at work, and this day had been no different. All anyone could see was how cool Ryo acted towards his partner and how Dee gave him the space he apparently needed.

John wanted to go over to Ryo and to give him some advice he'd heard his own father say once. It was just after his parents had argued over . . . something. He couldn't recall precisely why they'd fought, but his father's words . . . he remembered.

 _"Son, it's best to never go to sleep angry with someone you love,"_ his old man had said. _"We never know what tomorrow will bring. We never know when we'll get the chance to say 'I love you' to that person again."_

"That's . . . that's us . . . How . . ." Ryo's voice cracked as he spoke. Until that moment, he'd not said a word to anyone, refusing to hear any words of comfort. He'd simply held onto his foster son and never once left the waiting area. "How is he?"

"Are you Randy McLean?" the doctor asked. Blood covered parts of her scrubs, and she looked weary.

"Yes," he said with a nod. "I'm Randy McLean."

"Will you please come with me?"

"What? Why aren't . . ." John could only imagine the emotions playing across Ryo's face. "What's wrong?"

"Mr. McLean, we have procedures that we've got to follow when it comes to privacy. If you wish to tell everyone else after we've spoken, that's fine, but federal law prevents me from speaking about Mr. Laytner's condition in front of anyone except family or those he's given permission to," the woman said. "If you'll follow me? Please?"

"O-of course," Ryo said. He glanced around, as if unsure. It took a few seconds before John realized what was going through the younger man's mind.

"I'll take Bikky to the cafeteria," he said. "Get him a snack or something."

John held his hand out to both Ryo and Bikky. Hesitant at first, Ryo then nodded and nudged Bikky in his direction. The teen scrubbed at his eyes, not even bothering to protest as John took him by the hand and out of the waiting room.

* * *

_Two hours later . . ._

Berkeley tapped his pen against his desk, irritated. In front of him was a stack of reports, something he didn't want to read in an effort to form a cohesive story. Each was from a different person detailing what he or she had seen around the time of the bank robbery and eventual shooting of one Dee Laytner.

He didn't really like Dee, hadn't liked the man since their meeting in England a few years prior. There was just something about the other man that rubbed him the wrong way. Diana had once told him it was because he and Dee were alike, but Berkeley couldn't see how. In his mind, his work ethic was far better than that of Laytner's, more on par with that of Ryo. About the only redeeming quality of Laytner's that he even admired was the man's sense of loyalty. There wasn't anything Dee wouldn't do for Ryo, Ryo's foster son Bikky, and the nun who'd raised him from the time of his birth.

However, Berkeley knew that, just because he didn't like Dee Laytner, he didn't want to see the man dead. If anything, he wanted the detective live. Dee had become a puzzle for him to figure out and piece together, especially Ryo's attraction to the man. It was the greatest enigma to someone like Berkeley Rose. He was more accustomed to getting what he wanted and with minimal fuss. Because of Dee, luring Ryo into his bed had become more than a little difficult.

Berkeley sighed and stopped tapping his pen against his desk. His eyes burned from reading the reports the officers and detectives collected. The crime lab technicians were still at both scenes, gathering evidence, and they were likely to be there for several more hours. He glanced at his clock.

Eight hours. Eight hours had passed since the call had come in, the one code no one ever wanted to hear. Officer down. Dee Laytner was down.

And it looked as if he might not make it through the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Ryo typed at a furious pace. His mind focused solely on his paperwork. He wanted to get everything written down as neatly, precisely, and quickly as possible. There was too much for him to do in a single day. Parent-teacher conferences were coming up, and he still didn't know how he was going to find the time to attend.

He hated his life. He truly hated his life, and he hated it with a passion. He hated being a cop, he hated being a foster parent, and, more than anything, he hated the fact that he loved one Dee Laytner with all of his heart and soul. He hated that he loved being a cop as well and for loving Bikky. A part of him wished he'd never taken on such responsibilities, that he'd chosen something different to do with his life, something that involved little danger and that would have kept him clear of police work. If he had, he wouldn't have met Dee and he wouldn't have met Bikky. They wouldn't be in his life, and he wouldn't have to worry about them.

Of course – he paused in his typing and sighed – if he hadn't become a cop, the truth about his parents' deaths wouldn't have been solved. If he hadn't become a cop, he wouldn't have found a lopsided form of justice for their deaths. And, if he hadn't met Dee, he wouldn't have known just how hot passion and love could burn within a person's soul and body. If he hadn't met Bikky, he wouldn't know how fierce loyalty could scorch a person's veins or how parents felt over their children when they were injured. Protectiveness, love, loyalty, all of these Ryo had known, but he'd never known their intensity. Dee and Bikky brought all of those emotions out in him and more. Because of them, he wanted to become a better person, even though he'd never once been anything less.

If he looked in a mirror, Ryo would see the dark circles under his eyes. They were so dark that someone had asked him if he'd gotten into a fight. The circles looked like bruises. He needed to get some sleep. That much he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes for very long. Images of Dee laying prone in a hospital bed, hooked up to heart monitors and I.V.s that dripped precious fluids and blood into his body, flooded his thoughts every time he tried. He kept expecting to wake up, to find out that the shooting had just been a nightmare of his, and to find Dee in bed next to him, ready to chase away the fears and ease his frantic mind.

No such thing happened for him, though, so Ryo kept pushing himself to his limits and perhaps beyond. He couldn't be quite sure any longer. He just knew that he couldn't stop, not until he could be sure his nightmare was over. He'd go above and beyond, not only to be sure Dee returned to him and that Bikky remained safe but to bring the criminals who'd sent his lover and partner to the hospital brought to justice. With a heavy yet determined sigh, he resumed typing.

* * *

Something had attached itself to his face, specifically to his nose. It was a little on the sticky side, it was stiff, and it was distinctly uncomfortable. He wanted it gone, and he wanted it gone _now_. Dee groaned as he struggled to open his eyes and raised his hand to find the thing that bugged him.

Before his fingers found the offending object, someone grabbed at his hand. The other person's hand was harm, a bit dry, but warm all the same.

"Shh, don't touch it," the voice, a man, said. "Please, don't touch it. Not just yet, 'kay? I promise it'll be gone soon. Just don't touch it."

There was something familiar about the person who'd spoken to him. Dee continued struggling to open his eyes – why the hell wouldn't they open? What were they made of, lead? – and he tried to place who the person was and how he knew the man.

"There," the man said. "The nurse should be on her way. Are you going to be able to open your eyes today, Dee?"

He nodded. It took him longer than what he wanted, but he wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to see the person next to him, to remember why his voice and his touch were so familiar.

Finally, though, he managed. Through blurry eyes, he saw a man with sandy blond hair and dark eyes staring at him. There were tears streaming from his eyes and an expression of joy on his face. One hand reached up and started to stroke his hair back.

"I thought you were never going to wake up," he said. "Thank goodness you're awake. I've missed you so much . . ."

Missed . . . the man said he missed him, and it sent an ache of longing coursing through Dee. Why did that mean so much to him? He noticed that the other still held onto his hand, his fingers caressing the sides and squeezing on occasion. With his other hand, Dee reached over to touch the other man's face. He was so familiar . . .

"R-ryo?" His voice barely cracked above a whisper. The other man's joyous smile grew more joyous, if it were possible, and he nodded.

"Yes, Dee," he said. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Where . . ." He touched Ryo's cheek then glanced around the room. He didn't quite recognize it, even as something told him he was in a hospital. Ryo had mentioned nurses.

"In the hospital," Ryo answered. "You've been in here for a couple of weeks now."

"Wh . . ." He started to say more, but the dryness of his mouth and throat caught up with him, and Dee started to cough.

"Here . . ." Ryo released his hand, and Dee mewled in protest. Seconds later, a straw pressed to his lips. "Take a drink."

He complied with the command. When the coolness of the water touched his mouth, he started to drink as if he'd never had the stuff before.

"Whoa, take it easy, Dee," Ryo murmured. He pulled the straw away for a moment. "You're going to choke if you don't . . ."

Dee grunted and tried to reach for the cup. When was the last time he'd had something to drink? He couldn't recall. He was so thirsty . . . The straw returned, and Ryo coaxed him into not drinking everything in one go.

When his thirst abated, Dee leaned back in the bed and wanted to close his eyes. By this time, the nurse had entered his room.

"Is everything all right?" Oh great. The nurse was a guy.

'Ah well,' Dee thought drowsily. 'Ryo's here . . . I'd rather have him anyway . . .'

"Yes," Ryo replied, excitement contained but just barely. "He's opened his eyes . . ."

"I'll go get the doctor . . ."


	4. Chapter 4

It was nothing short of a miracle, according to the doctors. The fact that Dee Laytner had managed to defeat the odds baffled, amazed, and gladdened them. Berkeley knew that the doctors had given up hope on the detective ever opening his eyes, of ever living through the injury that nearly stole his life. The wounds to his arm and his leg had been nothing, the bullets finding flesh instead of a major vein or artery.

On the other hand, the gunshot to his back had proven to be more worrisome. According to the doctor who removed the bullets, the third bullet tore through Dee, shattering a kidney and nearly splitting his liver in two before finding a way to lodge near his heart. There was, of course, more to the medical reports, but Berkeley didn't want to think about the gruesome details that nearly cost Dee Laytner his life. To know that there'd been very little to no hope of the man ever waking up and recovering was sufficient. It'd taken the detective about a month . . . maybe it was a little longer . . . Berkeley wasn't sure . . . but it had happened all the same. Within the last week, Dee demonstrated signs of regaining consciousness and strength. He'd finally opened his eyes the day before, something that had sent Ryo to the moon with joy.

Berkeley stared out his apartment window, taking in the sights of the city below. It wasn't much, a modest apartment for someone at his pay scale, but it suited his personality. He kept it clean, too. He was by no means a slob. He liked to keep things in order, organized . . . simple. An idle thought entered his mind, of how Dee kept his apartment. Berkeley knew that Ryo was more the neat freak compared to Dee, but even as a bachelor, there had to be some kind of organization in the dark-haired detective's life.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, it left just as quick. Berkeley continued to stare out at the city that surrounded him, darkness and light clashing and blending together to create a rather breath-taking view. In his hand, he held his phone.

He was of the mind to call Diane, to find out how she was doing. They hadn't spoken since he'd called to tell her about Dee. She'd visited once, but he hadn't seen her. According to J.J., she'd gone straight to the hospital to visit Dee, spending a few hours with him while Ryo attended to something concerning his foster son. He felt assured that she'd want to know about him waking up, that she'd be just as thrilled as Ryo was, but there was something else, something that had him refraining from making that call. He reached up and placed a hand on the glass.

Life was short, he knew. He saw it on the rare occasions when he could actually work on a case with someone instead of just pushing the paper. It sickened him when he saw young girls and boys on the streets, dressed up as prostitutes in order to buy food or drugs. He wanted to vomit, knowing he couldn't save every single one of them from that life. It broke his heart when he saw five-year-olds with gunshot wounds because they happened to be there when some gangbangers drove through and took it upon themselves to shoot at anyone and everyone in sight. It angered him when he had the unfortunate task of trying to convince a battered woman or man to file charges against the spouse that had broken an arm or a couple of ribs. All of those scenes, no matter from when they happened, they haunted Berkeley, and the shooting of a police officer affected him just as much. To know and realize and feel that what had happened to Dee Laytner could happen to him or any other officer on the force . . . Berkeley exhaled a heavy breath, shuddering at the thought.

And what had he accomplished with his life? His professional accolades were one thing – fighting crime was something he was passionate about; if he hadn't felt that passion, he wouldn't have entered the academy – but there was something missing in his life. It wasn't anything missing in his professional life. It was something more, something that traveled deep into his bones, and sent an undying ache throughout his body and into his heart. His thoughts wandered back to Dee and to Ryo . . .

_"We have a 4-19! I repeat, we have a 4-19! Officer down!"_

_Berkeley glanced up when the call came in, listening as the officer calling it in gave the badge number. For some reason, someone had brought a dispatch radio into the bullpen, and everyone there stopped working. It was the kind of call no one ever wanted to hear._

_Several seconds passed, seconds that felt like an hour, then chaos erupted in the forms of J.J. and Ryo. Berkeley watched as, at first, Ryo didn't move. He stared, blank-faced, as the officer's badge number echoed across a now silent room. Then the realization set in, and his beautiful dark eyes widened in shock and horror. Some of the light drained from his eyes, and it was a sight that Berkeley never thought he'd ever see on Ryo._

_Once the realization hit him (and it hit him hard – anyone with two eyes could see as much), Ryo dashed for the doors. No . . . dash wasn't the word for it. His movements were a strange combination of scrambling, scrabbling, and bolting. Anyone who stood in his way jumped out of it as fast as humanly possible. Berkeley took off after him. The younger man wasn't in any condition to be driving. That much he knew, and he wanted to keep Ryo from harming himself in his efforts to reach his lover._

_All the while, as he chased after Ryo, he heard the cries of "Oh, God no . . . please God no."_

Berkeley blinked and sighed. He pressed his forehead against the glass. His hand never left it, and it felt cool. In the distance, he saw a flash of lightning.

"Why the hell is he the lucky one?" Berkeley muttered. The words spoken, he realized what it was that he was missing. It was someone to care about him the way Dee and Ryo cared about each other. Dee behaved no differently when Ryo was injured in the line of duty. Hell, if he was right there when it happened, the person to injure Ryo more often than not ended up in the hospital as well. Berkeley had always thought such outbursts from Dee were problematic, but, in remembering the look on Ryo's face when that damned call had come in, he understood. He'd felt the same way, once.

* * *

Ryo inhaled a deep breath and then let it out, closing his eyes in the process. He lay next to Dee in his partner's hospital bed, and he possessed no intentions of going anywhere. The only way he would is if something happened to Bikky. While he felt assured it wouldn't happen – the teen was staying with Mother for the night, helping with the kids – he wouldn't rule it out. If it did happen, well, there would be all kinds of hell to pay. The last thing he wanted was to be torn away from Dee, and Bikky understood. He, too, had been unwilling to leave Dee's side since his partner regained consciousness, but only one of them could stay overnight. He also had school in the morning. Because of school and the possibility of incurring Ryo's wrath (if he did something stupid, like get into trouble and arrested), Bikky swore he'd stay out of trouble.

Ryo rested a hand on top of Dee's chest and inhaled yet again. Beneath his fingers, his partner's heart beat at a steady rhythm, and his chest rose and fell with each strong breath he took as he slept, peaceful. For the first time since the shooting, Ryo believed he could close his eyes and not dream of the horrific images that had haunted him.

It wasn't over, Dee's recovery. Such a thing promised to be a very long and arduous journey, but it was one Ryo would gladly face over the terror of losing his partner.

Ryo never thought he'd ever miss Dee in his life. His partner had always been there.

He wanted his partner to be there for a long, long time.


	5. Chapter 5

_"The sun rises, the sun sets. Each day is a new beginning, one to be cherished because one never knows when it might be his or her last time to enjoy what life has to offer."_

John Smith listened to the speaker, his expression one of sorrow. It was a somber atmosphere. Most of those who'd gathered were dressed in black, a sign of mourning. Officers from the 27th wore their uniforms, each standing straight and crisp. Their faces betrayed no emotions.

On this day, they were laying to rest one of their own, an officer who placed the safety of others above his. It was the greatest sacrifice anyone could ever make, to place himself in the line of fire to protect the life of someone else, and, to him, it was a sacrifice that deserved honor and respect. He didn't care if it was a civilian, an officer of the law, or someone in the military. Those who fought the good fight, to ensure that law-abiding citizens could sleep in peace at night, were always worthy.

The world was going to hell. That much John knew, and sometimes it felt as if the efforts of he and those who served under his command weren't enough. There were so many who died who didn't deserve to have their lives cut so painfully short, and it always seemed as if those numbers continued to grow. Why did they continue? He wanted to ask that question out loud. The officer in the casket certainly didn't deserve to have his life cut short. _Why did they continue?_

In his wonderings, his gaze traveled from the civilians gathered to mourn the loss of a son, a brother, a nephew, a friend, an uncle, a father, a husband, to those of the officers. While their faces remained stoic, their eyes told John a different story. They knew. It could be any one of them in that casket, but there were no hints of questions. In his mind, they weren't questioning why they bothered to continue to fight the good fight. They had their reasons for walking the streets, for hunting down the ones who would disrupt the peace, and cause only anarchy and chaos. They stood among the ones they wanted to protect. When it was over, they would return to their homes where their loved ones awaited them, more of those they wished to keep out of harm's way.

Two officers in particular captured John's attention. It was in the way they stood a little closer to each other than anyone else. It was in the way that their hands nearly touched, though they stood straight and their eyes on the casket of the departed. The small things. That's all they were: small things. Yet they were still significant. To know there was someone waiting at the end of the day to hold and to love . . . the little things sometimes chased away the enormity of the bad. John felt a faint smile touch on his lips, and he nodded. He knew why he continued to bother, why all of the officers in his city and in other cities around the world continued to bother. There was something for each of them to protect.

And that was all that mattered to keep them going above and beyond the call of duty, no matter where it took them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. There is a death. But whose death is it?


End file.
